


Lipstick Boys

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Explicit Language, Incest, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Slash sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-02
Updated: 2008-03-02
Packaged: 2018-10-01 01:02:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10177037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: A soft cloud of powder and perfume to muddle one's brain, and silk dresses to carress your thighs





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

He is sure it is a rather bad idea. In fact, he has been warned repeatedly to refrain from wandering through the manor in such a state. His darling mother meant well but he had always been a stubborn boy. He wouldn’t be Draco Malfoy if he was not stubborn. 

His steps are dampened by the lush rugs and he feels confident in the dark, he wraps it around himself for protection often. His silk-wrapped feet slide over the floor and he bites back the giggles that threaten to escape him when he builds up a bit of momentum and slides over the polished wood where the rug ends. He knows it is a bad idea. 

It had started out as an experiment after one too many sips of brandy and it was slowly turning in to a habit. He doesn’t much mind, it isn’t a damaging habit and technically it isn’t addictive either although it is hard to resist the game at times.

His father would kill him if he knew. 

There wasn’t a single doubt in his mind that Lucius Malfoy would strike him down without a second thought, any danger to the name of the Malfoy family had to be eliminated. 

He has learned that passage from the book of Malfoy family rules by heart.

Narcissa knows. How could she not, she had caught him at it and there was hardly any excuse for it. Draco knows his mother loves him unconditionally and she has kept her mouth shut, as he knew she would. She has also told him to abstain from wandering, to stay in his room with the door preferably warded. The fear in her eyes was very evident when she had mentioned his father.

***

He is laying in the bath with his eyes closed and his arms hanging over the edge, breathing softly and letting the magical bubbles relax his tense body. Dinner had been another tedious affair, no one said anything unrelated to food or politics, mother announced another gathering which would require their presence and his father had been even more absentminded than usual. 

He had tried to be patient and carry himself with dignity but he was excited about his newest find and was itching to try it out. Of course he had participated in the boring discussions and sneered at the house elves as was expected. It was all he could do to not run up the stairs when dinner was finally over. 

His parents had been enjoying a glass of wine by the fire after dinner and he knows they would be retiring soon as well. He has been letting his skin prune for at least an hour already, everyone would be asleep by the time he started playing. 

Growing restless, he stands up and summons his bathrobe and a towel for his hair. It has gotten well past his shoulder already and he is itching to magically add a few inches to it, but he can’t. Something would be said about it and he just knows that he won’t be able to keep the blush from his cheeks, no matter how well he was trained. 

It is all very silly really.

He takes a seat at his desk and transfigures it back to its previous shape. The large mahogany structure changes in to a delicate vanity table complete with mirror and Draco smiles at his reflection. The long lashes really bring out his eyes. 

He lets the bathrobe fall open and shrugs it off, carelessly letting it drape over the chair. He then reaches for a bottle and uncorks it, inhaling the scent of almonds. He lets a little flow on to his palm and starts meticulously rubbing it all over his body, massaging it in to the skin. When he is done he stands up and tosses the wet bathrobe in a corner trading it for the black silken one he favours. 

He sits back down at the vanity table and picks up a large brush made of the tail of a polar fox and a black lacquered box decorated with butterflies. He opens the lid and a soft cloud of powder rises up from it. He dips the brush in, taps it on the edge and brings it up to his face. He gently dusts his face with the powder and dips the brush in again for his neck and shoulders. When he finishes he looks in to the mirror again. His skin sparkles faintly and he wipes an excess of powder from his nose and then smiles. It is perfect, he absolutely loves it. He would have to thank Pansy, sometimes she really did have good ideas. Not that she knows what he uses them for.

He puts the powder and brush aside and flips the lid of a flat rectangular case open. He selects another brush, a smaller one this time, and chooses a silvery shadow from his large collection. He applies the shadow to his lids with practiced ease and adds a soft white under his eyebrows as well. He puts everything back carefully and picks up a different powder. He uses the same large brush to apply the blush, it is his all-time favourite one after all. It is all coming along nicely and he takes his time perfecting every aspect.

When he is finally satisfied he picks up the kohl pencil and traces his eyelids carefully. If he messes up he would have to start over again and he is growing very fond of that sparkly dust on his skin. He really shouldn’t have worried; his hands know the motions quite well indeed and in no time at all his eyes are perfectly outlined in dramatic black kohl. He pauses for a moment, peering in to the silent mirror. It usually had a comment for him by the time he reached the kohl but was keeping very silent. 

He shrugs off the anomaly and starts adding a different shadow to his eyebrows, they are a little bit too pale to pull the look off if he doesn’t and he really wants to look dramatic on the night of the blood moon. It is a silly holiday but he is a Malfoy and Malfoys always follow tradition. If a blood moon was meant to be celebrated in lust, Draco would give it lust. Cultured lust, but lust none the less.

His parents hadn’t mentioned the moon but he knows that his father has rather forcefully declined the Zabini’s invitation for ‘dinner’. It was for the best of course, Draco certainly didn’t feel like participating in an orgy and he is fairly sure his father didn’t either. Orgies are for barbarians, who would wish to humiliate himself needlessly?

Draco sets that thought aside with a shudder and reaches for the mascara. He has magically elongated his lashes and he is dying to find out what they look like coated in black. His mother had noticed but she had pressed her lips together and looked the other way. His father hadn’t even glanced twice. He most definitely would do more than glance if he saw him now, his grey eyed seem twice as intense when he is finally through with the lashes. He flutters his lashes coquettishly and giggles at his reflection.

“Incredible, simply incredible,” he whispers in an unnaturally gentle voice.

He lets his hair out of the towel and reaches for his wand. If he waited for it to dry on its own he would be waiting for hours and Draco simply doesn’t have that kind of patience. He dries the blonde mass and takes a hairbrush to it. A hundred strokes, just as his mother taught him. He absently wonders if his father allows her to subject him to that rule as well as he has longer hair than even Draco. When he is finally finished he uses another spell he has learned from Pansy and his hair curls in to ringlets. That woman really deserves a present, he decides when he sees his hair bounce around his shoulders. 

He frowns at his tight-lipped mirror and rebukes himself for it. Why does he care what a stupid mirror has to say about it? 

“Frowning will give you wrinkles my dear,” he tells his reflection which giggles back at him.

He stands up and lets the robe fall to the floor as he walks over to his wardrobe. He opens the large doors and mutters a spell which flips the contents around. You could never be too careful when gambling your life his father had often told him. He wonders if it would amuse him to find out what his son applied that knowledge to.

Opening a drawer he takes out a pair of lacy white knickers and slips them on, arranging everything until they are comfortable. Silk and lace nearly feel like a second skin, he thinks, relishing the cool rush it gave him. He ignores it for a moment and gingerly reaches for a coat hanger. He takes a breath and snatches it, clutching the silky material to his chest. Oh how he had waited, he had nearly resorted to biting his nails in anticipation. He had wanted the dress ever since he had seen it in the display of that shop in Paris and he had been ecstatic when he found out he could owl-order from there. He had arranged for the catalogue to be delivered monthly and when the first issue arrived he had immediately ordered that dress. 

It had been quite an investment, but he was a Malfoy and it hadn’t mattered. He hugs the grey dress lovingly and nearly starts petting it before he pulls himself together. That is getting him nowhere. He takes a few steadying breaths and spreads the dress out on his bed. That being done he turns back to his wardrobe and takes out a pair of sheer stockings. He sits down on his bed next to his dress, careful not to disturb it, and starts putting on the stockings. He runs his hands over his legs a few times, sighing in pleasure.

It is great being Draco Malfoy. 

Finally it was time. He takes the dress off the bed and steps in to it, pulling it up slowly. The cool material caresses his skin and he is momentarily distracted with the feeling. He is entirely too obsessed with silk, he knows. Ah, it could have been worse, it could have been polyester. 

He pulls the sleeves on and laces the bodice tightly, giving himself the illusion of curves. He is nearly giddy with excitement when he walks to the enlarged mirror. It is stunning, he knew it would be but it is better than anything he had imagined. The dress leaves his shoulder bare and the long sleeves end in a point over his fingers. The bodice is tight and embroidered with silver threads in a dizzying pattern and the skirt trails over the floor. He twirls around, laughing and sits back down at his vanity table. 

He taps his wand to one of the drawers and it slides out to reveal an assortment of bejewelled necklaces, bracelets, rings and earrings. He decides on a diamond choker and a simple platinum band with a square cut stone. It would not do to upstage his dress. A dab of perfume behind each ear and a touch of gloss to his lips perfect the image. 

He stands up and walks over to his bed to activate the recording charm and then walks about for a little while. Once he is sure he has captured himself from every angle he turns the charm off and takes another steadying breath. 

He opens his door carefully and peers down the hallway. It is entirely dark and there are no sounds anywhere except for his breathing. His sense of security satisfied, Draco walks out in to the hallway on bare feet and begins his nightly wandering.

It is very difficult to keep the giggles down, he feels like a princess playing hide and seek with her lover. Indulging in the fantasy, he creeps down the hallway, peering around corners and behind furniture, looking for his mystery lover. 

His game brings him downstairs in the foyer and he bites his lip. He has always stayed in the shadows, true, but the moonlight shining through the window above the door is so much like a spotlight that it simply begs him to stand in it. Never once does he consider looking around, he simply steps in to the light and closes his eyes, bathing in it.

“My lady?” he hears whispered from the top of the stairs. 

He doesn’t even turn around to look, he simply makes a mad dash for the first door he can see. His heart races in his chest, his blood had turned suddenly cold at the sound of that voice. He isn’t sure, he couldn’t be sure, there is simply no way it could be happening. Perhaps he had imagined it?

Denial is not something he does very well. He races through the lounge to the dining room, trying to be as quiet as possible without slowing his run, holding his skirt so he wouldn’t trip but still keeping a hand free to open the doors. And of course he has left his wand in his room, isn’t that just typical?

He is in a hallway again, his vision slightly blurred as he has forgotten to blink in his excitement. He stops for a moment to look around for orientation, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. The west wing, he is in the west wing. His bedroom is on the other side and he would have to go through the library, it is the fastest way. 

He waits until he calms down somewhat, it is time for stealth again. He is alone and he is at home in the dark, he would be fine. He would be just fine.

It has to have been his father, no house elf would say that and especially not in that tone of voice. Was the moon playing tricks? Surely then his parents would be together and his father would not be in the foyer for any reason. Perhaps they have a new ghost. It has to be something like that, he dreads the alternative. 

He is far too young and beautiful to die, but wouldn’t it be just perfect? He would be looking his best if it happened and although it is a morbid thought, it isn’t altogether unpleasant. 

His feet slide over the floor soundlessly, a whisper of silk following him in the shadows to which he pays no mind. He is in his natural element, if only his newest pride wouldn’t shine so much. Draco reaches the large doors that lead to the library and slowly turns the handle. With a faint creak the doors open and he slips inside. He keeps to the shadows, twisting and turning to avoid the rays of moonlight that chase him around. He has learned his lesson already, the moon is a traitor. 

In no time at all he reaches the other side, ignoring the sparks that rise from some of the more potent books when the silk flutters against them. The doors are no less impressive on this side but he knows they are a lot noisier that the main ones. It has something to do with humidity, he can’t quite remember. Biting his lip, he turns the handle and pulls, wincing at the loud creak. 

He is again in his own wing, these hallways he knows like the back of his hand and he may just make it back without incident. Draco knows that he will have to go up the stairs where he couldn’t hide but he has done it before and that makes him confident. 

Slinking through the shadows once more he races through the hallways with a sudden sense of urgency. He nearly falls down when he reaches the stairs unharmed. It is rather anticlimactic. 

When he feels strong arms encircle him from behind he knows he rejoiced too soon. 

“Caught you, my lady. I believe I win,” someone whispers in his ear.

He is shaking all over, his heart is about to explode in his chest, he is sure of it. The lump in his throat prevents him from speaking, not that he knows what he could say and he stays silent. The grip on his waist relaxes and the arms fall away so he does the only thing he can think of, he turns around. 

He knows who it is, he had known as soon as he had smelled that particular cologne. It is an entirely different thing to be faced with undisputable evidence. Lucius Malfoy stands tall, a smug smile playing on his lips. Draco is surprised to note that he is entirely dressed and looks like he has been awake all along. His father is wearing all black, tight black pants that lace up on the sides and a lace-up V neck shirt which he hadn’t bothered to lace up. His long hair is tied back with a silk ribbon and a platinum chain rests on his collarbone. He is also barefoot and his toes are curled in the rug. He has never seen Lucius in such a costume, he resembles a pirate of all things and the image is only strengthened by the expression he wears. 

Draco is shocked, he doesn’t know if he should try to run or make an attempt at subterfuge. Without letting his smile falter Lucius approaches him with his arm extended. 

“I played fairly, surely my lady would not begrudge me my reward.” he says quietly. He raises an eyebrow when Draco fails to respond. “I seem to find my eloquent lady tongue-tied. Perhaps I may assist in remedying that.”

His thoughts focus on the absurdity of the situation, the dream-like quality of the scene before him. He doesn’t struggle when those strong arms wrap around his waist once more and allows himself to be pulled closer. He places his own hands against his father’s chest, feeling the warmth pulsing under his fingers. Fear and excitement run through him like wildfire, vaguely he recognises the smell of French cologne again but mostly he focuses on remaining on his feet. A hand on his chin forces him to look up in to his father’s steel-grey eyes and he tries to compel his heart to slow down its suicidal pace. He is so lost he doubts he’ll ever find himself again. 

His father’s eyes hold danger in them for sure but there is something else, a glint of amusement and dare he think it, appreciation. 

He is still a good three inches shorter than his sire so he is forced to look up, which makes perfect sense as the figure before him was always something to be admired but never bested. He knows he is wide-eyed but he wonders if it is fear or awe that inspires it.

“Incroyable,” Lucius mumbles and his hot breath tickles Draco’s face. 

Before he could even realise what was happening, moist lips are pressed to his and his mouth is invaded. He gasps in surprise and the kiss stops, followed with a light chuckle. 

“You cannot tell me that a lady of your beauty has never been kissed.” 

He is sure he is dreaming. It could be nothing else. 

His mind has taken him on a wild trip although he isn’t sure why it has chosen his own father to be his mysterious love interest. Deciding to play along he allows the blush he was restraining to appear on his face accompanied by a shy smile. 

“It would not be seemly. My family is an honourable one, a lady is not to let just any scoundrel take her virtue from her,” he says, his eyes locked on those steel-grey orbs, so like his own. 

“Ah, the troubles of virtue, how tiresome they are. Not to worry, I shall rid you of the pesky thing,” he is told.

The ground disappears from under him and he finds himself in strong arms, pressed tightly against a hard chest. He lets a squeak escape him and wriggles in the grip. 

“Good sir, I beseech you, let me down. A man of good intent does not behave in such a manner,” he pleads. He is getting carried away, his mind fabricates scenario after scenario, each more wondrous than the next. He cannot make himself stop, he is too curious and needs to see how it will play out. He considers briefly if he has fallen asleep reading another of his mother’s bodice-rippers.

He gets a laugh for his troubles and the grip tightens. “I do not remember stating my intent, good or otherwise. At my mercy you are and at my mercy you shall remain.” 

“Oh what a world, that has such creatures in it. I beg of you, release me. I will not utter a word to anyone about this,” he says, his voice breaking slightly on the word ‘beg’. He is not that lost yet.

He is carried through the hallways to an area of the wing reserved for important guests, he hasn’t spent much time there except to explore the hallways and he wonders which rooms are behind the doors. The obvious beating of the other man’s heart is making it more and more difficult to hold on to the fantasy, his dream is becoming mostly too real. There is nothing he could do, he is literally at his father’s mercy and if he wished to play then Draco would follow the rules, if only to prolong the inevitable. 

That moon truly had a lot to answer for. 

“You may do as you wish my lady, I recognise a treasure when I see one and I sincerely doubt I am letting anyone take you away from me. I am afraid your reputation must suffer along with mine,” Lucius says. He sounds rather unapologetic about it though.

They had apparently reached their destination because Draco feels himself being shifted so that Lucius can open the door. He is not set down even when they enter the room, the door is simply kicked shut and he is carried to the bed.

Oh surely not. 

When he is gently set down he feels a droplet of sweat running down his back, so many emotions flicker past him, never staying long enough for him to properly feel one. The candles light one by one and he looks around the room. Aside from the large four-poster there is a small table with a decanter and two glasses on a silver tray, an armoire and a silver-framed mirror. The room is carpeted in milky white and the walls are unadorned grey stone. He doesn’t remember that room at all. He finally forces his gaze to the other occupant of the room who is leaning on one of the posts negligently, observing his catch.

His breathing quickens, his fingers curling in the silk covers of the bed as he frantically thinks about his next move. He is frightened, yes, but the excitement was slowly taking more control away from him. How often has he imagined such a scenario? Has he not played this game frequently with his imaginary lovers? A kidnapping, a chase, hide and seek, sometimes eloping and at other times simply meeting in secret. He has.

And yet, how often has he jumped at the slightest noises, expecting his stern father behind every corner? Has not his own mother warned him against her husbands temper? She has. 

But the figure before him does not seem ready to murder him at all. There is no malice in those eyes, no threat in the posture. In fact, Lucius is lazily observing him, tracing his body with his eyes. His eyes hold a promise, a touch of desire and a dash of danger. Gods, there is so much heat in that room.

Draco scrambles back on the bed and stops when he reaches the wall. He doesn’t know what to feel, on the one hand there is beauty and desire, on the other there is reality. The man he has always loved more than was good for him. The man he has also feared. 

Perhaps he has wandered the halls at night looking for him but he doesn’t need to admit that to himself.

“Très adorable. Vous m’avez capturé,” Lucius whispers. 

“Je t’exécre, démon,” Draco bites back, his expression rebellious. “There is little doubt who is the captive.” 

A smug smile is offered for his outburst. “But there is. And tut, tut, my lady, such violent language for one so nobly born. It seems to me that a fire burns beneath that gentle disposition.”

Oh all gods above, the predator is making his move. Draco bites his lip until it bleeds, the sharp taste entering his mouth though he dares not lick his lips. Lucius is calmly walking around the bed, unlacing his shirt entirely. When he reaches the side he smirks and pulls the shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly on the floor. Draco is trembling again, his knuckles have turned white from clutching the sheet.

“Reconsider, I beg you,” he whispers dismally. 

“But I have,” is the cryptic answer. 

His shoulder is seized and he stifles a yelp, his fingernails clawing at the impossibly smooth skin of Lucius’ chest. He can’t think of him as his father, his mind is already close to snapping. What a beautiful creature he is, all that pale grace and eloquence with a sharp mind lurking behind enticing eyes and full lips. He has never contemplated his Lucius’ nature, never placed him in the role of such a sexual being. 

Fingers are curling in his hair, pulling him closer, the hand on his shoulder travelling down to clutch his waist. 

“Levres qui je baiserai.” 

Lips are on his again, but this time he is ready. Gently he seizes Lucius’ bottom lip between his teeth, running his tongue over it. He lets go and feels a tongue opening his mouth, tastes the wine on it and sucks it deeper inside. He wonders why he had been so afraid, so reluctant, when that tongue strokes every inch of his mouth, drawing out all those noises from his throat.

When that feeling is taken from him he feels momentarily abandoned and looks up breathlessly, a demand for more at the tip of his tongue.

“Not so innocent after all.”

The bed dents in slightly when Lucius sits down and Draco closes his eyes, the proximity making his head do weird things to his vision. The soft brush of hair along his shoulder makes him lean closer and he is embraced lightly.

“No, not so innocent,” he confirms and lets himself get lost in the gentle touch.

Fingertips trail down his neck and over his shoulder, butterfly kisses following the path laid out. A low moan escapes him when that wonderful mouth is on his neck, biting slightly and easing the pain with little licks. He is amazed by his own calm, and a little shamed. Surprisingly it is not the company that shames him but his own selfishness. He resolves to amend that and his own arms encircle Lucius, nails digging in to his shoulders. 

He is pulled on to a lap and he settles his face against the side of Lucius’ neck, sighing contently. He wants to ask a ridiculous question, needs to ask it, but knows he will not. The game would be ultimately ruined for both of them and he would rather keep his mouth shut for the rest of eternity than cause that.

‘What do I call you?’ Absolutely ridiculous. 

Nimble fingers are working on the laces of his dress and he feels a little sad that he only got to wear it for such a short time along with the desire for Lucius to hurry. Fingers are on his skin more often than not and he knows it is intentional. He is pulled to his feet and made to face Lucius. Carefully the sleeves are peeled down his arms, followed by kisses to his bare skin. Never once does he take his eyes off Lucius.

When the dress pools at his feet and the other lifts him in his arms again he knows it is too late for both of them. 

He grabs one end of the black ribbon and tugs at it, freeing Lucius’ long hair. He lets the silk fall through his fingers and buries his hands in all that hair. It is softer than he had thought, perhaps Narcissa managed to bully him in to a hundred strokes after all. 

With crystal clarity he understands all the wistful looks he has seen people give his father, he knows that there have been a few lucky enough to have experienced the intensity of Lucius Malfoy. He hopes that one day he will be able to shrug off that kind of look with the same ease Lucius does. 

He knows there is no love between his parents, nothing beyond friendship. This doesn’t hurt as much as he should, he understands that it is better than nothing at all. 

He is set on the bed again and this time he doesn’t try to run, he stretches out with a lazy smile. He watches Lucius undress through half lidded eyes, there is little in the way of sexual overtone in the way he does this but it is hardly necessary. Draco admires the marks of the Malfoy family, marks he will one day bear himself.

Lucius stalks over to him, climbing on the bed next to him and letting the silky mass of hair tickle Draco’s body. The hair is soon joined by questing fingers which leave no inch of him unexplored. Every ripple of his torso is admired and he attempts to return the favour, his attempts seeming clumsy alongside those knowing touches Lucius bestows on him. He manages to raise himself up slightly, only enough so can thrown an arm around Lucius’ neck and pull him down in to a kiss. Draco is very used to getting what he wants and he is not above taking it when he needs to. 

Lucius pulls away and smiles down, his lips red and swollen. Draco giggles when he imagines him in a dress. A green one, he thinks. 

“Am I amusing you?”

“Not yet, but I believe you are well on your way,” Draco tells him playfully. 

“Truly? Madame seems to have lost her bashfulness,” Lucius says amusedly. 

“I’ll show you bashful, you rogue,” he says pulling Lucius down once more. 

Their teeth clash and gentleness is traded in for violence, Draco feels the need to bruise those beautiful lips. He bites down on Lucius’ tongue and sucks hard, letting out a disappointed mewl when it is pulled away. He finds his lip caught between the other’s teeth and moans, clutching the hair so hard it had to hurt. 

Lucius growls in to his mouth and rolls on top of him, pushing his thighs apart to settle between them. He can feel the hard length pressing in to his thigh and groans but he is cut off by vicious lips on his own. His hands run over Lucius’ back roughly leaving red traces here and there. Teeth are on his neck again and he presses his nails in to flesh, screaming with pleasure. The sensations surge through him like liquid fire and he squirms, rubbing against the warm body above him. The game gives him courage he didn’t know he had. 

A hand slides over his side and under the silk knickers, sliding back to cup his arse. 

“I’m afraid these will have to go,” is whispered in his ear and he feels the fabric slipping down his thighs. Lucius moves to get them off entirely and Draco’s breath catches for a moment. 

What if he really hadn’t known?

He calms when he sees the lusty gaze which is levelled at him and favours Lucius with a slow smile. He is answered with another heated kiss and a low growl. They claw at each other, their erections rubbing together sending waves of intensity through their bodies. Draco mewls again when Lucius lifts himself off, earning himself another chuckle. 

“I was supposed to be amusing you, remember?”

“Then what is the meaning of this? I was already amused,” he says sulkily.

“Pay attention. There is more.” 

He felt himself blush at the ease with which Lucius touched him, the grazing touches were hardly tentative, and he arched in to them. The sure, immodest strokes had him melting in to Lucius hand in no time at all and he found it was difficult to hold back all the sounds that wished to escape his throat.

It was rather more difficult when the hand was removed and a warm wetness enveloped him. 

The silky touch of Lucius’ hair tickled his thighs and he squirmed, unintentionally bucking his hips. He was stunned for more than a moment and when the reality of what was happening sunk in a feeling of helplessness and pure need surged through him. Lucius’ tongue was hot against his already flushed skin and the tremors became more powerful when he was swallowed once again. 

Strong hands gripped his hips, holding him down without compassion, pressing him in to the mattress ferociously. That tongue teased relentlessly and the smoothness of Lucius’ throat broke the monotony. It had him panting, expressing his need by tangling his fingers in that wonderful hair once again, struggling against that strong grip. 

He felt wanton, hungry. 

Draco felt hands burrowing under his legs, pushing him up. Lucius came up for air and gave him a lust-filled look, eyes clouded over and lips blushing. He was lifted on to strong shoulders and that tongue descended on to him again.

“Held at tongue-tip,” he mumbled to himself. 

He took hold of the bedposts to restrain himself when he felt that tongue twisting unhesitatingly inside him. It was all he could do to simply hold on to consciousness. 

“Put, I pray, quick recompense to my wish, blessed spirit and give me a proof that there is power in thee to reflect that which I think,” Draco quoted, blinking rapidly against the blinding light of his lover’s smile. 

“Set free thy burning desire,” was his answer.

He reached out for his lover, gripping the offered arm and pulling himself up. Pressing himself close to Lucius he whispered against hot skin.

“I tire of patience.” 

“What we have begun we shall finish, with your permission.” 

He finds his face turned upwards, a question in those eyes contrasting the blatant immodesty of before. 

“You have my blessing,” he says, sincerity dripping off every word. 

Draco slides his arms around Lucius’ neck and wraps his leg around his waist, silk stockings rubbing against smoother-than-silk skin. He is lifted slightly and faintly hears a murmur of a spell being cast, his attention is entirely on the feeling of something slick slipping inside him, warm and pulsing. 

The sensation is like a slap in the face, there is no more room for fantasy. He was about to be fucked. No, he is already being fucked, by his father. He knows it would not be a first in a pureblood family. He strongly suspects his father had done the same with his father. He knows Blaise Zabini relishes the nightly visits his father pays him. He knows all this, he has known for some time, but he never really grasped it before. He consented to this, he nearly pleaded for it. Lucius Malfoy is a painfully beautiful man, there was no way around it, and Draco found himself loathing his mother. She had tried to keep him away, she had intentionally put fear in his mind, fear of the person he had always loved beyond reason.

Their bodies move together almost rhythmically, their chests so close together that there seemed to be a single heartbeat for both of them. Draco feels justified in his desire, fortified by his lust and utterly empowered by the rush of heat in his veins. Compelled to share the fury that encompassed him, he sinks his teeth in his father hard enough to hurt. 

He has to blink the moisture in his eyes away, ignoring the nagging voice in his mind telling him he is ruining his make-up. His own arousal is pressed between them, rubbed from all sides in time with the thrusts. He is floating, his only anchor a pair of steel-grey eyes he can barely see through wet lashes. 

Without breaking the connection Lucius sets him down on the bed again, leaning on his arms for leverage and speeds up their motions. Draco’s hands curve gently around the curve of Lucius’ arse, he grips it. Releasing the lock his legs have on Lucius’ waist he finds a more comfortable position and pulls his father deeper in to him. He hopes they can remain like that forever while at the same time praying for release. 

Understanding Draco’s intent, Lucius transforms the act in to something ruthless. The pace becomes demanding and he claims Draco’s lips, cruelly abusing the flesh. He is matched every inch of the way and together they spiral upwards, or at least so it seems to Draco who wonders how far he can soar until it is time to crash back down.

And when he feels ready to die just so he can escape the intensity, something in him shatters in to a million pieces and he can feel every inch of his body at once. A violent shiver takes hold of him and the impact of orgasm nearly pushes him over the edge. He has to struggle for breath when Lucius’ larger form collapses on top of him but he is quickly aided. In one smooth move he finds himself on top and looking in to a pair of very sated eyes.

“I trust I have finally managed to amuse you.”

He groans. “Understatement of the century. It rates right up there with ‘Voldemort is a somewhat unpleasant fellow’.”

Lucius laughs softly, playing with one of the curls. “And yet I haven’t managed to render you speechless. Oh well, I heard some witty fellow mention that practice makes perfect.”

Draco nearly melts in to the embrace, rolling over partially so he could snuggle up to the taller man. He burrows deeper in to warmth and sighs in pleasure when he feels a leg pushed between his and an arm pulling him even closer.

“Silver is a good colour on you. Although I must admit I prefer the strapless black one with the butterflies.”

He tenses and looks up in to the face of his too-real fantasy. Lucius is regarding him with an amused smile, waiting for a response. Realisation hits with the force of the Cruciatus curse.

“I bought it in Vienna. My mirror was absolutely lyrical about it.”

“Yes, I rather thought it might have been. Perhaps next time, you would wear it for me? We shall look in to some proper jewellery for it. I would appreciate it if you would not dye your hair black again, though it looked absolutely ravishing I find myself enthralled by these bouncing strands of platinum.”

Yes, Draco thought, Pansy really deserves a spectacular gift. He would look in to it. 

Perhaps a small country would do.


End file.
